In God's Hands
by KathyG
Summary: In story #12 of my end-times series, the fourth seal has been opened, and famine, disease, and crime are killing people in the millions. A starving, vengeful man whose wife has just died of hunger is determined to get even with a wealthy neighbor who refuses to share any of his food. Can the angels stop the one from committing murder and persuade the other to start giving his food?
1. Prologue

**IN GOD'S HANDS**

**By KathyG.**

**What would Tess, Monica, Andrew, and Gloria do, if they found themselves during the end-times scenario prophesied in the Bible, prior to Jesus' coming? What kinds of assignments would they receive? How would they handle their assignments? This alternate-universe series is my attempt to answer that question, to surmise how the angels would handle the events of the Rapture and the Tribulation.**

**The first story in this ongoing series was written by Robin Day and myself. The rest, I am writing on my own.**

**In story #12 of my end-times series, the fourth seal has been opened, and famine, disease, and crime are killing people in the millions. A starving, vengeful man whose wife has just died of hunger is determined to get even with a wealthy neighbor who refuses to share any of his food. Can the angels stop the one from committing murder and persuade the other to start giving his food to his starving neighbors?**

**PROLOGUE**

Lila Campbell lay on her back, moaning. Her stomach had settled into a constant dull ache, days ago, combined with a feeling of emptiness. She did not even have the strength to sit up in bed anymore. Even turning her head took effort she didn't care to put forth.

The late-summer sunlight poured through the window, illuminating the pictures on the wall opposite the room and the dust motes floating in the air. Her light-blonde hair lay tousled over the pillow. The air-conditioner emitted its soft hum and its cooling air throughout the bedroom. The soft thick bedspread now lay rumpled over her body. Lila bit her lower lip and sighed.

_I'm dying,_ she thought. _It won't be long now._ She sighed. _I never would have thought that my end would come like this—by starvation!_ She made a feeble attempt to shrug. _Oh, well, at least I'll be in Heaven now._ She forced a wan smile on her face. _Thanks to Mark._

An unearthly glow off to one side caught her attention. After a minute of effort, she managed to turn her head. To her amazement, a man with sandy-brown hair and a light beige suit stood next to the light-blue wall, hands in pockets.

"Hello, Lila." The man approached her, the glow pouring off his body. "My name is Andrew. I'm an angel sent by God."

Lila made a feeble effort to raise her hand. Andrew took it and squeezed it gently. "What are you—here for?" Lila asked, her voice feeble.

"To take you Home." Andrew smiled. "I'm an angel of death. God wants you to know that He is proud of your new faith, and it will not go unrewarded. But your husband and brother-in-law still face some difficult times."

Lila sighed. "I know. It's going to get—so—much worse—before it—gets better." Andrew nodded agreement, his face somber.

"I—I fear for my husband." Lila swallowed. "He's going to be so—so—angry when he finds me—dead." She shook her head. "He's tried so hard to borrow food from—our neighbor—Lester Larson. We just can't—get any food anymore—so now, we're forced—to beg. But Lester refuses—to give—us any." She sighed. "My husband will—never be able—to forgive him. Please pray—that God—will help—my Richard—and Mark!"

"Don't worry, Lila." Andrew perched on the edge of her bed. The mattress sagged beneath him as he adjusted his position to face Lila. "God has His hand on them even as I speak. And He is going to send other angels to help them."

Lila smiled gratefully. "Thank you," she whispered.

Andrew drew a pocket watch out of his pants pocket. Opening the lid, he glanced down at its face as it shone in the sunlight pouring through the window. Shutting the lid, he slipped his watch back into his pocket. "It's time, Lila."

The next thing Lila knew, she was standing next to her bed beside Andrew. Her lifeless body lay face-up on the bed, her eyes closed. "Please, God, help Richard," she prayed. "This is going to be so terrible for him."

Andrew patted her shoulder. "God has heard your prayer, Lila. He will help Richard. And Mark." Lila smiled her thanks. "Now—shall we go to Heaven? God is waiting to welcome you."

As her smile spread, Lila inclined her head. Andrew led her through the door into a blazing light. An instant later, her husband, Richard, entered her bedroom, his slippers making no sound on the carpeted floor. At age 35, he looked young and handsome. His dark-brown hair had been cut just above his ears. Normally, he looked strong, slender, and muscular, but weeks of hunger had wreaked havoc on his body. His eyes looked too big in his tanned face, and his sunken cheekbones appeared hollow. His clothes hung on his stick-thin limbs.

"Hello, Lila," he said, making an effort to look and sound cheerful. As he paused to gaze down at her, his breath caught. "Lila? Sweetheart?" His voice shook. "No! Can't be!"

Extending a trembling hand, Richard pressed his thumb against her still-warm neck to check her carotid artery. He then cupped his palm over her mouth. No pulse, no breaths.

"She's dead." His voice choked. "My beloved Lila dead—of _starvation_!" He banged his fist on the mahogany dresser's unyielding surface. "And it needn't have happened! If our stingy neighbor, Lester, had only shared his food with us, my Lila would be alive now!"

Deep, bitter resentment surged in Richard's heart toward Lester Larson. As far as Richard was concerned, it was Lester's fault that his wife had just died. Lester, their neighbor who lived a quarter of a mile down the road, could have given them some of his food; he had stored so much over the past several months. His insistence on hoarding his food instead of sharing it had condemned his Lila to death. _And it won't be long until Mark and I die, too,_ he realized.

"I'll kill you, Lester," he muttered, clenching his fists. "I'll _kill_ you!" He kicked the iron bed frame. "You're a dead man!"

He stalked out the bedroom door, paying no attention to his younger brother, Mark, who flattened his body against the wall to let his brother pass by. "Oh, no," Mark whispered. "He means it—I can tell! I've got to stop him—but how?"

Raising his eyes toward the plaster ceiling, he clasped his hands in front of his chest. "Please, God," he prayed, "my brother's about to make a terrible mistake. Lila has just died, and now he wants to kill Lester for letting it happen." His voice shook. "Please, God—I don't want to see my brother become a murderer. Please—do something!"

He took a deep breath; his voice rose into a desperate plea. "I make this request in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen." Biting his lower lip, he entered the bedroom to sit with his sister-in-law's body. His own blue cotton shirt hung loosely on his emaciated frame. The mattress sagged underneath him as he sank down onto its edge.

Unknown to him, three angels stood in a row along the opposite wall. "His name is Mark Campbell," Tess said, a somber look in her eyes. A ruby necklace hung around her neck. "Richard is his brother—and Lila's husband." She looked from angel to angel. "She died of starvation. Andrew is taking her Home as I speak."

"I just did." Andrew appeared next to her. "The Father is welcoming her now." He thrust his hands into his pants pockets. "Unless God softens the heart of Lester Larson, I'll soon be escorting Richard and Mark, as well."

He paused a moment, thinking, gazing down at Lila's body. Then, folding his arms across his chest, the angel of death shook his head. "Because of the war in the Middle East, there's been a severe scarcity of food for the past few months now. And people are dying by the millions, as a result. Every angel of death has been called into action, just to keep up with all the deaths taking place." He sighed. "The fourth seal was opened just weeks ago, as we all know. Death and Hades are in full gallop, all over the world."

The other angels nodded agreement. "Yes, and we know that one-fourth of the world's population will die as a result," Tess said. "As Lila Campbell just did."

Gloria tilted her head, puzzled. Her glasses gleamed in the sunlight illuminating the bedroom. "Why won't Lester share his food with them?" She shook her head, furrowing her eyebrows. "Surely he must know that it's more blessed to give than to receive."

Tess shook her head. "Lester is not able to see that, baby. He's driven by fear for his own life, not by concern for his neighbors. He has refused all appeals for food, not only from the Campbells but from his other neighbors as well." She shook her head, pursing her lips in disapproval. "Lester is bound and determined to keep all his food for himself. He doesn't care if the neighbors starve, so long as he stays well-fed." She folded her arms across her chest.

Monica agreed. "He's determined to keep it all for himself, because he fears he will starve if he doesn't." She paused. "What he doesn't realize is that God warned him to save food not just for himself, but for others as well." She clasped her hands in front of her waist. Her pearl earrings swung as she turned her head from one angel to another. "Richard Campbell's brother, Mark, has been a believer since shortly after the Rapture. But recent events have shaken his faith considerably, and now he's wondering if God even listens."

"That's right." Andrew nodded agreement. "But Lester is the biggest problem, and now, his greed and his insecurity could cost him not just his own life, but the lives of others." He shook his head, sadness in his expressive green eyes. "And Richard is normally a warmhearted, good man, but his grief and his rage are threatening to transform him into a murderer. He needs God's touch, now, as much as Lester."

Tess inclined her head. "So does Mark, Angel Boy. As Monica said, he's becoming convinced that God has turned a deaf ear to all his prayers, and his faith is growing weak as a result. And Lila's death has just turned Richard into a bitter, angry man, with a heart bent on vengeance and murder."

She nodded toward Mark. "See the way he's rubbing his stomach? He does that when his hunger causes a stomach ache. That's been happening to him frequently in recent weeks."

Gloria nodded, wincing in evident pity. "I see that. Poor Mark." She furrowed her eyebrows in puzzlement. "Why isn't he incapacitated by his condition? Or Richard?"

"He and Richard aren't at that point yet," Andrew explained. "Some people succumb more quickly to starvation than others, depending on their physical condition when it starts. Richard and Mark just happen to be stronger than Lila was, to begin with; therefore, they've been able to last longer. But unless things change, and fast, the day will soon come when they will no longer be able to function. They'll be too weak from hunger."

The four angels turned their attention toward the younger man, sitting slouched next to Lila's body, sighs escaping his mouth. Mark rubbed his right hand on his stomach as he gazed down at his dead sister-in-law. A dove perched in the windowsill, turning its little head this way and that; behind it, trees thickly dotted the southern Tennessee countryside.

Tess looked at the dove and nodded. Cooing softly, the dove spread its wings and flew off. 

**END OF PROLOGUE**

4


	2. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

The next morning, as the same dove flew overhead, Monica and Gloria trotted up the porch steps toward the front door of the elegant two-story Larson mansion, their heels clicking on the concrete. Gloria had pinned her hair back; Monica's hung below her shoulders. The Irish-tongued angel clasped a notebook against her chest.

Gloria pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, then rang the doorbell. White Corinthian columns towered on the porch's front corners, holding up the overhang blocking out the sun. A cool breeze caressed her face. A porch swing hung suspended from the awning on chains to their right.

The door swung open; a man stood there. "What do you want?" he asked, crossly. He raised his right hand to lean his arm against the doorframe.

The man was 44 years old, Monica noticed. His brown hair had started to turn gray. Little lines appeared in his forehead, otherwise, he still looked young. He wore a white expensive linen shirt and a pair of corduroy pants.

Shifting her gaze from Lester's face to his hand, Monica felt a surge of relief. No tattoo! That meant Lester Larson had not taken the chip implant yet, so there was still hope for him. His soul could still be reached. She deeply yearned to get through to him while she still could. _Thank You, Father!_ she silently prayed.

"Hello." Monica smiled at him. "My name is Monica, and this is Gloria." Gloria inclined her head. "We were sent here by the agency you called this morning. You asked for someone to help you inventory some supplies you keep in your house."

Dropping his hand to his side, Lester stepped forward and peered at her forehead, then at Gloria's. His frown deepened. "It's funny—I don't see the new tattoo on your foreheads. Hold up your right hands, please."

The two angels did so. Lester shook his head. "This is very odd. The new chip implant isn't being enforced here yet, but even now, no one can buy, sell, or hold a job without it." He grimaced. "Since I work for myself, no one has been able, yet, to force me to take it. But it's only a matter of time till they try."

A suspicious look appeared in his eyes. "I'm wondering if I should take you on without it. I know what the law would say if I hired two ladies who have no implant."

"The agency that sent us doesn't require the chip." Monica relaxed her stance, with a disarming smile spreading across her face.

"Not yet, anyway." Lester shrugged. "That won't last long—I can tell you that. They'll be forcing us all soon." He waved his hand in dismissal. "Oh, well—that day hasn't come yet. Not here. I don't have it yet, either, so I guess I'm in no position to criticize. And I could definitely use your help, so come on in."

He stepped aside so Monica and Gloria could enter. A soft, thick carpet covered the foyer floor from wall to wall. Shutting the door behind them, he said, "Come this way."

He led the way down the hall and into the kitchen. His leather shoes made no sound on the thick carpet spanning the length of the hallway. Oil and watercolor landscape paintings hung on the pastel-green walls. As the angels followed him into the kitchen, he pivoted to face them. The cool air released by the air conditioner felt good on their skin.

"I'm taking inventory of my food," he explained. "I've got to have an accurate count, so I'll know what to keep in here and what to move downstairs."

"Downstairs?" Gloria titled her head.

"Yes! Downstairs," Lester snapped. "I have a safe down in my cellar—a huge one. I'm moving most of my food into the safe, to keep it away from desperate neighbors." He gestured toward a pile of cardboard boxes and wooden crates stacked in the corner. "We'll pack them in those, as we count them."

He scanned the two angels for a long moment. "Monica, I want you to help me count the food." He turned to Gloria. "And you make a careful record of it. You don't have to use that notebook you two brought—I have a word-processing software I want to keep my records in. When we have inventoried all of it, we'll move most of it downstairs." Gloria inclined her head.

"I'll get you a laptop to type it on, Gloria." He left the room.

In a low voice, Gloria said, "It's going to be very hard to get through to him, Monica. He doesn't even care."

In an equally low voice, Monica agreed. Leaning against the counter, she gazed past Gloria at the kitchen entrance. "Not yet, he doesn't. The Father is going to work on him while we're here. Our job is to follow whatever directions God gives us—He'll do the rest." Gloria nodded acquiescence.

In his upstairs bedroom, Lester rubbed his fingers over his leather-covered laptop computer. _I never could have afforded this when I was a boy,_ he thought. _My parents had all they could do, just to feed us and keep us half-way clothed._ He shook his head at the memory.

Lester had been born in poverty. His family had lived in a rundown tenement building in New York City. Throughout his boyhood, hunger had been a constant enemy, for his father had been too proud to apply for food stamps. As Lester had grown up, he had vowed to do whatever it took to lift himself out of poverty so he could have the comfort and luxury he yearned for. More recently, he had made up his mind to do whatever it took to protect his hoarded food supply so the hungry neighbors wouldn't steal it all and leave him starving.

Sighing, Lester picked up his laptop and cradled it under his left arm. He exited the bedroom, leaving the door ajar. He paused just outside the bedroom entrance to glare out the window opposite.

"When is this stupid war going to end?" he muttered. "It's creating havoc all over the world!" Shaking his head again, he trudged on down the hall toward the stairway. 

**END OF CHAPTER 1 **

2


	3. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Back at the one-story Campbell residence, Mark approached the storage room. His tennis shoes clicked on the linoleum-tile floor spanning the hall. Just before entering, the 30-year-old man brushed back his dark blond hair, then pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. To his shock, he found his brother perched on a stool, fondling a revolver he had bought years before. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling, shedding a soft golden glow throughout the room.

Richard jolted upward, then plastered a smile on his face when he pivoted to face Mark. "Uh—Mark! I was just—going through our things." Rising to his feet, he laid the revolver on the shelf, then put his hands on his hips as he scanned the boxes and crates littering the floor. "I'm just wondering what to do with all these. I'm going to have to decide, soon, whether to keep Lila's stuff or give them away, you know."

Taking a deep breath, Mark stepped into the room. "Is that why you were peering at the gun so intently? The gun was not hers." Richard did not respond. "Richard, I know what you're planning. I overheard you talking to yourself, yesterday." Richard pursed his lips, but did not speak.

Mark's voice turned pleading. "I loved Lila, too, you know." Richard sighed and nodded agreement. "She was not my husband, so I didn't love her in the same way. But I did love her, nevertheless. Her death has crushed me, too."

Richard sagged his shoulders. "I know." He rubbed his head as he spoke.

Mark approached his older brother. "Richard, listen to me! Killing Lester is going to be the worst mistake you could ever make. It won't bring Lila back, but it _will_ kill something precious inside you." His voice turned pleading; he laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I don't want you to become a murderer, Rick. Think about it!"

Richard glared at him, but before he could utter a retort, the doorbell jangled down the hall. "We can't talk about this now, Mark. That's probably the man from the funeral parlor." He strode down the hall and swung open the front door.

A heavy-set black woman stood on the porch, a funeral wreath in the crook of her left arm. "Are you Richard Campbell?" she asked.

Richard nodded. "Yes."

"My name is Tess, and I was sent by the funeral parlor." She looked at Mark. "Are you his brother?" Mark nodded, raising his hand in greeting. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Richard stepped back. "Thanks. Uh, come on in."

Tess entered the living room and set the wreath on the couch. Richard led the way down the hall and into the bedroom, where his wife's body still lay. Mark followed in the rear, and stayed outside the door as the other two entered Richard and Lila's bedroom.

"Her body has turned cold," Mark muttered. "And stiff." Richard inclined his head, as he touched Lila's hand.

"Her name was Lila." Richard's voice broke. "She was the best wife a man could wish for. And now—she lies dead!" A fierce glare gleamed in his eyes. "By starvation!"

Tess touched his shoulder. Compassion filled her smoky alto voice. "I know, Mr. Campbell, and I am so sorry. I know your grief runs deep."

Richard smiled wanly. "Thanks." He shook his head. "It didn't have to happen, though." He clenched his fists.

Tess sighed. "It shouldn't be happening, no, but it is. Because of the war, all over the world, people are dying for lack of food. And disease."

"And crime." Richard gritted his teeth. "Criminals are murdering people left and right." Tess nodded. "One of them lives in a mansion just down the road, a ways. A man named Lester Larson."

Tess furrowed her eyebrows. "How does Lila's death by starvation make Mr. Larson a murderer, Mr. Campbell?"

Richard turned to glare at her, his face turning red. "He has a huge amount of food stored in his house, Tess! He's been storing it for months now, in great bulks, since last winter. It's as if he knew something we didn't." Tess said nothing. "He won't share even a bite with us or with anyone else!" Richard's voice rose. "He'd sooner see us all dead than share what he's got with his hungry neighbors. I've begged him repeatedly to share his food, even offered to pay for it. He refused. Every time."

He turned his gaze toward his wife's body, a tear streaking his tanned cheek. "And now, my wife's dead as a result. Because neither Mark nor I can earn any money for food—even if we could, prices are too high and the stores are empty. And that pigheaded Lester refuses to share his. And soon…" He bit his lower lip. "Soon, my brother and I are going to join her. We have nothing to eat in this house, Tess. Nothing."

He whirled to face Tess, a deadly glare in his eyes. "Before I die, though, I'm going to see that Lester dies first! If he thinks he's going to be the only survivor in this whole neighborhood because he hoarded all that food, he's got another think coming, Tess. That man is a murderer, and he deserves to die!" He banged his fist on the mahogany dresser.

Tess' heart churned with conflicting emotions as she listened to this man rant about Lester. While she sympathized with his pain, she could not but disapprove of his craving for revenge. Only God had the right to inflict vengeance, she knew. Man did not.

"Vengeance is in the Lord's hands, Mr. Campbell. Not yours." Tess wagged her finger. "You just leave Lester Larson in God's hands. He knows how to deal with Lester." She put her hands on her hips.

Richard clenched his fists. "So more people can die because Lester is greedy?" he roared. "Lila's not the only one who's died in recent days. Nor will she be the last, unless Lester is dealt with! God sure won't do it."

He took a deep breath as he made an obvious effort to calm down. He smiled wryly. "Tell me something. Are you always so direct?"

Without waiting for an answer, he trudged out of the bedroom, shaking his head and ignoring Mark. His sneakers clicked down the hall till they faded into silence. With a heavy sigh, the younger Campbell stepped across the threshold and joined Tess.

"Tess, I can't help but fear that Richard is right." Pain etched his fair-complexioned face as he leaned against the doorframe. "I fear God's not going to do anything, either." 

**END OF CHAPTER 2 **

2


	4. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

Mark glanced behind him toward the hall, then turned back to Tess. "I—I don't want you to tell anyone, but I became a believer in Christ a few years ago. Right after the Rapture." Tess beamed her approval. "And I've been trying to stay close to God and do what He wants." He pushed his glasses up his nose as he spoke.

Tess patted his shoulder. "God is proud of you for that, Mark. Never doubt that."

"Thanks." Mark grimaced. "Unless God sends us a way to survive, soon, though, it's all going to be meaningless."

He sighed. He had never felt so heavy-hearted as he did then. He had prayed and prayed, but so far, no answers had come. His sister-in-law was dead, and his brother had become a bitter, vengeful man. He leaned against the wall and gazed down at the carpeted floor. He dug the toe of his right sneaker into the carpet tufts beneath.

"I prayed nonstop that He would send us food, but He hasn't. Nor has He persuaded Lester to loosen his hold on his own food." He took a deep breath. "We—we're all going to die, Tess." His voice trembled; he raised his face to look at her. "There's just no way to avoid it. I've been foraging, combing the countryside for anything edible, but I haven't been able to find much." He smiled wryly. "At least we seem to have a friend at the utility company—it hasn't shut off anyone's utilities yet. Not around here. So we don't have to swelter or go without gas on top of everything else."

He shook his head. "I don't know how much longer we have. Any of us. And now, my brother's about to make the mistake of his life, by killing another man. Tess, I'm going to be frank—I don't know how much longer Richard and I can stay alive." He swallowed hard. "If God doesn't hear my prayers fast, we're both going to be dead. Very soon. And Richard will be in Hell."

He stared at her, as panic welled up in his heart. "You're not going to tell the funeral parlor what I just said, are you? Being a believer is a capital offense now, because it means we can't take the implant. Richard hasn't been forced to yet, but I know he will if they try to make him. And if starvation doesn't kill me, the guillotine will."

A comforting smile spread across Tess' face as she laid her hand on Mark's arm. "Don't be afraid, Mr. Campbell. I'm not in the business of turning believers over to the Antichrist's henchmen; rather, I help them. Yes, I know that Antonio Puccini is the Antichrist. I will most certainly keep your secret." Mark relaxed. "And, baby, I want you to know this. God ignores no prayers from His children. He doesn't always answer as quickly as they wish, or in the way they want, but He does hear your petitions. He has heard your prayers, Mr. Campbell, and He is with you in your suffering. Right now."

Mark smiled wanly. Patting his shoulder, Tess left the room in search of Richard. Mark returned to his own bedroom, where he sank down onto his own bed and picked up his Bible from the nightstand. For a moment, he ran his fingers over its soft, black leather covers.

_May as well spend some time in God's Word,_ he thought, flipping through the pages till he came to a passage he had often studied. _I need to, desperately._ Reaching toward the nightstand, he picked up a spiral notebook containing his prayer requests, then riffled through it till he found his most recent list. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he proceeded to read and pray.

Meanwhile, back at the Larson mansion, Monica and Lester worked together, counting and labeling his food. Sunlight poured through the windows, illuminating the whole room. Perched at the kitchen table, Gloria typed the names and figures onto the spreadsheet document spanning the laptop monitor. As Monica and Lester finished labeling and numbering each category, they packed them in boxes and crates. Their shoes clicked on the linoleum tile floors as they took turns carrying the boxes and crates from corner to counter.

Monica bit back the urge to exhort Lester to do what he should. She knew what her job was. At the moment, it was simply to help Lester inventory his food supply. She couldn't wait to begin her real assignment, though—persuading Lester to turn his life over to the Lord, and to share his food with the hungry. That moment would come soon, she knew, and she needed to be ready when it did. _Father, give me the words to say,_ she prayed, silently.

While Monica counted a row of boxed foods—Tuna Helper, Kraft's Macaroni and Cheese, and other such foods—Lester counted his canned goods, relaying the numbers to Gloria. At one point, he announced, "Eleven cans of chicken noodle soup."

Monica looked up from her row of boxed foods to glance at the cans, their tin lids shining in the sunlight. She furrowed her eyebrows for a moment, then rested her hand on the smooth linoleum counter. "Uh, forgive me, Mr. Larson, but you have twelve cans of chicken noodle soup lined up there. Not eleven."

Wincing, red-faced, Lester slapped his forehead. "No, Monica, forgive _me_! Sometimes, when I'm giving numbers to others, I give them wrong." He sighed. "I've been known to do that with phone numbers and addresses on occasion." He smiled sheepishly. Monica and Gloria laughed.

He turned to Gloria. "Twelve cans, Gloria." With an amused smile and a nod, Gloria typed the number onto the software document.

Satisfied in her heart that Lester had told the truth, Monica turned her attention back to her work. For the next several minutes, she tried in vain to set aside a question that had been vexing her ever since she and Gloria had entered his kitchen. She couldn't stop wondering how Lester had managed to store so much food in a famine, when none of his neighbors had been able to do so. She decided to find out.

"Mr. Larson," she asked, "how did you manage to store so much food?"

Gloria straightened her back. "I've been wondering that, too." She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, then tilted her head. "You have enough food, here, to feed the whole region." She leaned back as she spoke.

Lester chuckled. "Yeah, I like it that way." He leaned against the counter for a moment, brushing his hair back. His elbow rested on its hard, unyielding surface. "Truth is, ladies, I was warned by a visitor several months ago. Before the war started. A black woman, heavy-set—I found her on my porch. She didn't give me her name, but she did tell me a severe famine was coming—warned me to store an ample amount of food so I wouldn't starve."

Lester paused. "I spent the next few months practically buying out the grocery stores in all the surrounding towns, so I'd have plenty on hand when the famine started. I even drove as far as Memphis and Nashville, with my van. Frequented Sam's Club, among other places, because you could buy foods in bulk at that particular store. That, of course, was before the chip implant became mandatory—we could still use our debit cards then. Even then, though, I kept on buying as long as I could, before it took effect here."

Monica nodded. She could well imagine.

"And I'm glad I did!" He shook his head. "Otherwise, I'd be starving, too. Not only is it impossible, now, to buy anything without that chip, food has become so scarce since that Middle East war started. It would be impossible to buy any now, the stores are so empty."

An expression of wonder etched his face. "I can't imagine how she knew, though. I'll never understand, but I'm very grateful."

Monica and Gloria exchanged meaningful glances. Tess must have visited their assignment before the start of the war. Monica turned to face Lester. This was the moment to speak up; of that, she felt sure.

Before she could say a word, however, Lester broke into her thoughts. "What's upsetting, to me, is that there's any famine, to begin with. There wouldn't be, if it weren't for that stupid war." He glared down at the cans of soup. "How could a war on the other side of the world so mess up things here?"

Monica approached him. "That war you speak of is being fought by the very countries that control the world's oil supply—the Arab countries. And Russia. And Israel. And that oil has been cut off by that war—not just here but in all other nations." Compassion welled in her eyes as she gazed at him. "Oil prices have risen sky-high as a result, which in turn has caused severe inflation. People can't afford to buy food or other necessities anymore. When people can't eat, they starve."

Lester looked at her, sagging his shoulders, then nodded. He began to pace the kitchen, back and forth, his shoes clicking on the linoleum tiles.

"You do have a point." He sighed. "Furthermore, the same gas costs you mentioned have forced the shipping industry to all but shut down. The airlines, too, and the postal system. The truckers can't afford to ship supplies to the stores anymore, or to businesses, either. So many stores and businesses now sit empty, with people laid off. In the past, they were stocked with merchandise."

Monica nodded. Bitterness welled up in Lester's voice as he continued to pace. "Even I have been affected. My business has slowed to a crawl, so that I was forced to lay off all but a few of my workers. I haven't been to the office in weeks. I had to lay off my house staff, too—that's why you've found me here alone."

"We know." Gloria rose to her feet. "Between the loss of jobs and the high prices and the lack of supplies being shipped, people have been unable to get enough food to eat. And when people begin to starve, they become trigger-happy. They get so desperate, they'll literally kill to eat." She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"So true." Lester bit his lower lip. "That's why I'm moving all my food downstairs to my underground cellar. People won't be able to rob me of my food if it's locked away in my safe. People'll try to do it when they get desperate enough." He sighed. "And if they succeed, I'll starve, too. I'm not about to starve to death!"

He pursed his lip and shook his head. Slowing to a halt, he leaned against the sink.

Gloria tilted her head, a puzzled expression etched on her face. "Since you don't have the implant, how have you been able to keep your utilities running?"

Lester smiled wryly. "I'm a lucky man, Gloria." He relaxed his stance. "I have some friends in the local utility company. I was able to bribe them to keep the gas and electricity going."

Now it was Monica's turn to feel puzzled. "Bribe them?"

"Yes." Lester chuckled. "I persuaded them to keep the utilities going in this neighborhood if I gave them just a few bars of gold a month. I keep it downstairs, in my safe." He bit his lower lip. "I don't know how much longer that'll last—when the law gets hold of the arrangement, no doubt, it'll force the company to shut our utilities down. For now, though, the arrangement works. Good thing, too—otherwise, we'd all swelter in this summer heat."

Monica exchanged a glance with Gloria, then laid her right hand on Lester's arm. "Lester," she said, gently, "I have a feeling you were warned to store food not just to save yourself, but others, too. Instead of hoarding it all for yourself, why don't you share it with your neighbors?" She paused, as rage appeared in Lester's eyes. She rested her left hand on the edge of the sink. "And trust God to provide for you. He will."

Lester shoved Monica's hand off his arm. "Are you crazy?" he roared. "Trust God to provide, indeed! If He were going to do that, would people be dying all over the world now?!"

He glared at the Irish-tongued angel. "I repeat: I will _not_ risk starving by giving my food away! I meant that, and I will not change my mind!" He took deep, quick breaths; his face had turned beet-red. "No more on the subject, Monica, or you and Gloria are out the door! I will ask the agency to send me someone else if I have to!"

He stormed out of the kitchen, hands clenched against his sides. His shoes thudded on the thick carpet as he stomped down the hall. 

**END OF CHAPTER 3 **

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	5. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

Monica's heart was crushed. It grieved her that Lester had become so hard and greedy. With a heavy sigh, she sagged her shoulders, staring down at the linoleum tiles beneath her feet.

"Don't take it so hard, Angel Girl."

Monica raised her head to find Tess and Andrew standing between her and Gloria. Gloria rose to her feet to join them. Monica dropped her left hand to her side.

"Oh, Tess," she said, "all Lester cares about is saving himself. He doesn't care if others die, just so long as he stays alive. He has no desire to save the lives of anyone else."

Tess nodded, pursing her lower lip. "I know." She shook her head with evident disapproval as she gazed at the kitchen entrance. "Don't give up, though—either of you. God is working on Lester, although you can't see it yet. He's under conviction for his hard-hearted refusal—that's why he exploded when you suggested that he share his food."

Gloria tilted her head. "Tess, did you visit Lester before the abomination of desolation?"

Tess nodded. "Yes, baby, I did. Back in the winter. The Father sent me to warn Lester, because with his wealth and his spacious mansion, he's the only one in the neighborhood with the money and the room to buy and store such supplies. However, as you've surmised, Monica, God didn't send me to warn Lester just so he could save himself." Her eyes hardened. "He also wants Lester to save others, and to trust Him for provision."

Andrew shook his head, then folded his arms across his chest. "That's right—He does. Trouble is, time's running out." He drew his pocket watch out of his pants pocket, gazed at its face, then sighed. "Unless Lester changes his mind in a hurry, I'm going to be forced to make an official visit to this house very soon. I'm going to have to, anyway, in the near future."

Monica's breath caught. She knew full well what Andrew meant: someone would die. Would that someone be Lester? Or Richard Campbell? And what did Andrew mean when he said he'd have to come here in the near future, anyway—was Lester going to die soon? The four angels exchanged troubled glances.

Meanwhile, Lester stalked into the living room and banged his fist on the polished mahogany coffee table. _How dare they?_ his heart raged. _I know what I'm doing; I'm not going to let anyone rob my food and leave me to starve! I endured too much hunger as a boy; I will not endure it again!_

As he leaned against the wall, shaking his head and trying to regain control of his emotions, painful memories assaulted his mind. Lester thought about the numerous times his stomach had growled as a boy, and all there'd been had been moldy slices of bread…the water he'd often poured on his cereal because there was no milk in the refrigerator…the time he had once rummaged through a garbage can just to dig out a half-buried Snickers bar. He was never going to go through such hardships again—not if he could help it! And if he gave his food away, he soon would be forced to.

A moment later, with a heavy sigh, Lester returned to the kitchen. This time, his shoes made no noise on the thick carpet. As he trudged through the entrance, he turned his gaze from Monica to Gloria, saying nothing. Tess and Andrew had disappeared.

At last, he sighed. "You are soft-hearted, Monica. I'll give you that." He leaned against the cabinet, resting his elbow on its smooth, unyielding surface. "But being soft-hearted will not keep you alive. Or me, either. In this day and age, we have to look out for ourselves." He turned toward the cans. "Come on, ladies. Let's finish the job."

Without another word, the three turned back to their work. An hour later, they packed the last food item in the final crate. The perishables had run out weeks before, so Lester's refrigerator stood empty. In addition to dry foods and cans, he had purchased numerous liter jars of bottled water; the angels had helped him stack them on the kitchen table. Now the boxes and crates stood stacked in rows, lining the length of the cabinet.

Lester turned toward Monica and Gloria. "All right. Let's carry these downstairs. Can you ladies manage these heavy boxes?" The two angels nodded. "Good. We'll save the bottled water for last."

Each picked up a box or crate, then the two angels followed Lester down the stairs into a cellar underneath the kitchen. Brick walls surrounded them; a wooden floor spanned the whole cellar. Lester flipped a switch as he descended the stairs; a soft golden glow permeated the room. A metal safe spanned one-half of the opposite brick wall, its door locked with a combination padlock. A wooden door stood in the wall to its left.

They set the two boxes and the crate on a wooden table in the middle of the cellar, then Lester approached the safe. Silently, he moved the numbers back and forth on the combination lock, then pulled off the padlock.

"All right." He swung the metal door open and flipped another switch. Light illuminated the inside of the safe. He gestured toward the boxes and the crate on the table. "Let's take them in. We'll leave the door open until we've stored the last box and liter bottle in the safe."

Biting her lower lip, Monica picked up a crate and followed Lester into the safe. At his instruction, she set it on the floor. Sadness filled her heart as she straightened her back. She hated helping Lester move all his food to this underground safe. Surely, this was not where it belonged!

Putting her hands on her hips, she scanned the safe. Several bags of money lay next to bars of gold stacked neatly on the carpeted floor. Propping her fingers together, she turned to Lester, a questioning look in her eyes.

"You must have stored your money for quite a few years, Mr. Larson."

Lester chuckled. "Yes, I have. I prefer not to do my business with banks. I store my money down here, instead."

Gloria approached him. "Does it do any good to do that now?" She brushed her hair out of her eyes. "After all, the world's been on a cashless system for a few years, now."

Lester leaned against the smooth metal wall, his shoes flattening the carpet tufts underneath. "That's true. It's all too true that my money is worthless now. I'm hoping that, one day, I'll be able to use it again, so I keep it here just in case." He gazed down at the stacks of gold bars. "I also keep my gold here, because there are those who'll accept it under the table, even now. As my friends in the utility company do. I mean to use it as long as I can."

He glanced at his watch. "Come on. Let's bring the rest of the food down here, then we're done. We'll just leave a little bit in the kitchen, so I can fix us something to eat this afternoon. You're probably going to be hungry and thirsty when all this is done!"

Laughing, he led the way up the cellar stairs, Monica and Gloria behind him. In the kitchen, they picked up three more crates and lugged them downstairs. After two more hours of storing the rest of the food and bottled water in the safe, an exhausted Lester sagged against the safe's metal doorframe and sighed.

"Thanks a lot, ladies. You've been a real help to me." He glanced at his watch. "You go upstairs now. I'll lock up, then join you. First, though, how much do I owe you?"

"It's on the house," Monica told him. "There's no charge." She and Gloria ascended the stairs. Lester watched them till they disappeared through the cellar door.

For a moment, he remembered the day his unexpected visitor had warned him about the famine to come. _She saved my life when she warned me,_ he thought. _I just wish I knew how she knew it was coming!_

Lester remembered that fateful day as if it had happened the day before…

_Lester returned from the kitchen with a cup of coffee in his hand. He ambled down the hall and through the foyer toward the front door, intending to sit on the porch swing. To his surprise, as he stepped onto the porch, he found a heavyset black woman reclining on the swing. _

"_Who—who are you?" Lester gaped at her. _

_The woman rose to her feet. "I came to give you a warning," she told him. "There is a famine coming, and it's going to spread throughout the land. It will be caused by a war that will begin in the Middle East early this spring. I advise you to store up lots of food, for you will need it when the famine sets in. Dry foods, not perishables. Better store up bottled water, too, while you're at it. The grocery stores will be empty, and what food is available will cost more than the average person can afford." _

_In shock, Lester squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head violently. When he opened them, the woman had disappeared…_

Lester came to with a start. He needed to go upstairs and fix something to eat for Monica and Gloria. After pressing the padlock shut, he rubbed his forehead, then took quick strides up the cellar stairs, closing the door behind him. 

**END OF CHAPTER 4 **

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	6. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

Meanwhile, at the Campbell house, Richard entered the storage room, where he flipped the switch to turn on the light, then reached up toward the shelf to grasp his revolver. For a long moment, he cradled it in his hands, face set. Then he reached back up toward the shelf to grab a box of bullets.

Perching on a three-legged stool, he proceeded to methodically load the gun, slipping in bullet after bullet. When he had finished, he placed the box back on the shelf and held the revolver against his chest, his fingers resting lightly on its cold metal surface. A cold smile spread across his face. The moment for revenge had come.

Richard couldn't wait to fire the gun at Lester's heart. It gave him a sense of satisfaction to know that, soon, Lester's huge supply of food would do him absolutely no good. _He'll be just as dead as my Lila is now,_ he thought. _And as dead as Mark and I will soon be._

"Richard Campbell?"

The stern female voice startled him; leaping to his feet, he whirled around, pointing the gun at the entrance. To his shock, Tess framed the doorway. The soft golden light permeating the storage room shone on her ruby necklace, making it sparkle.

Lowering the gun to his side, Richard glared at her. "You could have been shot, Tess! What on earth are you doing here now?"

"I came here to tell you that the funeral has been scheduled for late this afternoon." Tess frowned at the revolver dangling in his hand. "But it looks as if I'll be scheduling two funerals before it's over."

Richard snorted. "Possibly."

Tess stepped into the storage room, folding her arms across her chest. A stern expression etched her face. "Richard Campbell, listen to me. I warn you, do _not_ try to take this matter into your own hands! It is not your place to avenge Lila's death by killing Lester." She put her hands on her hips. "You will kill something inside yourself, and you might well end up on Death Row for murder."

Irritation surged in Richard's heart. What difference did all that make now? With a heavy sigh, he rubbed his forehead.

"It doesn't matter, Tess," he said. "I'm going to die soon anyway. It doesn't matter, now, whether I die of starvation or the guillotine or lethal injection. You're going to be scheduling four funerals before it's over, you know. Mark and I are soon going to join Lila, whether I kill Lester or not."

Tess grabbed the gun and yanked it from Richard. Silently, she laid it back on the shelf. Turning to face Richard, she wagged her finger. "Then don't you want to die knowing that you are right with God?" She paused. "Instead of dying with the knowledge that you murdered another human being?" Softening her voice, she laid a hand on his shoulder. "Revenge is not the answer, baby; prayer is. You need to turn to God now, and I strongly urge you to do so. Pray to God about what's happening, and trust Him to handle the situation. Place Lester, Mark, and yourself in God's hands. He loves you, and He's big enough to hold you all, and to handle your problems."

She left the storage room. Richard waiting till her footsteps died out, then donned a light jacket over his cotton shirt. He then lifted the revolver from the shelf, slowly and cautiously. He rubbed his fingers alongside its metal surface.

"God's not going to stop Lester from letting us all starve," he muttered. "I've got to do it. I owe that to Lila."

He crept down the hall and tiptoed out the door, stopping to glance at the funeral wreath now hanging on it. "So hot out here. And so muggy. Wish that breeze had held up."

Sighing, he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, then brushed his brown hair out of his eyes. Climbing into his pickup truck, he turned on the ignition and left the driveway. A cloud of dust rose behind the pickup as it sped down the dirt road.

Hearing the engine fade away, Mark, crouched in his bedroom to pray, leaped to his feet. "I hope—!"

Darting toward the supply closet, he flipped on the light, then stood on his tiptoes to peer over the shelf. The revolver had disappeared!

Sick at heart, Mark leaned against the wall and sagged his shoulders. He had failed. Richard was going to get his revenge and murder Lester. Bowing his head, he clasped his hands together.

"Please, God," he begged, "help me!" He swallowed. "Stop Richard before it's too late!" He rubbed his hands on his stomach as the by-now familiar hunger pains welled up.

"Don't despair, Mark."

Whirling around, Mark found Tess standing inside the doorway. "Uh—Tess—"

"God has indeed heard your prayers, Mark. All of them. And He has sent me to tell you so." An unearthly light poured off Tess' body. Mark gaped at her, as shock welled up.

"You are—an _angel_!"

"Yes." Tess took a step toward him. "Sent by God. If you'll come with me, I'll take you to Lester Larson's mansion. I have a convertible waiting outside."

Smiling his thanks, Mark followed her as she hurried out the front door. The noon sun beat on his head as he rushed after her toward the curb. He scooted into the passenger seat of her bright-red Cadillac convertible, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he did so. The top was up, he noticed. Without a word, Tess turned on the ignition, flipped the switch turning on the air-conditioner, and sped down the dirt road.

Meanwhile, a few moments later, Richard pulled up in front of the Larson mansion. Grabbing his revolver and hiding it under his jacket, he leaped out of the pick-up and darted through the white picket gate and toward the front door. Without knocking, he pushed the door open and stepped into the foyer.

He still stock-still to listen. Air-conditioning hummed softly, making his skin feel cool. A soft, thick carpet spread from one side of the foyer to the other, as well as the spacious hall it led into. He heard no voices, no footsteps. _I'll just have to look for him._

Slowly, carefully, he crept down the hall till he saw an entrance a little ways ahead. Voices came from the room beyond that entrance. A cold smile spread across Richard's face. _Good!_

He tiptoed toward that entrance, then slipped into the drawing room. He found Lester reclining on a couch, chatting with two women. All three had cups of steaming coffee cradled on their laps; Monica took a sip of hers. Sunlight poured through the spacious windows facing the front yard, forming a rectangle of reflected light on the carpet.

Lester raised his eyes and saw his visitor. As he set his cup on the coffee table and leaped to his feet, he glared at Richard. The angels watched the two men in evident apprehension.

"I thought I said—!"

"Don't you worry, Lester Larson. I didn't come to ask for anything, this time. I came to give you something, instead." Richard drew his revolver out of his jacket; Lester's face turned white. "I came to give you a bullet through the heart! You are a dead man!"

"Why?!" Lester raised his hands, shock etched on his face. "Just because I wouldn't give you my food—"

"Because you wouldn't share any food with us, my wife is dead, Lester! Of _starvation_!" Richard roared. "And you are going to join her! Just too bad I can't tie you up and leave you where you have no hope of being found—then you would truly know what she went through! But this'll serve my purpose just as well!"

Cocking his revolver, the vengeful man aimed it at Lester's chest. Beads of perspiration rolled down the terrified man's forehead. 

**END OF CHAPTER 5 **

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	7. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

"Mr. Campbell, _no_!" Rising to her feet, Monica set her coffee cup on the table; it landed with a clink. She then held out her hand, a beseeching expression etched on her face. "You don't want to do this!"

"I _didn't_ want to do this, no." Richard spat on the carpeted floor. "But that was before my wife died." He glared at her. "Her death didn't have to happen, but it did!"

Monica knew the moment had come to deliver God's message, and she was determined to make the most of the opportunity. She couldn't bear to see Richard or Lester going to Hell. She just had to help them see what they both were doing—Richard no less than Lester—so they could turn to God and receive forgiveness. First, though, she had to dissuade Richard from pulling that trigger.

She heard the front door slam shut, followed by approaching foot thuds. "Richard! No! Please, don't do this!" she heard Mark shout. A few seconds later, he threw himself against the drawing-room entrance, panting.

Richard whirled to find his brother framing the doorway, wiping his face and taking deep breaths. Mark stepped into the drawing room, followed by Tess. "Don't do it, Rick!" Mark warned. "You'll always regret it—if you kill him!"

"That's right, Richard Campbell," Tess agreed. "You certainly will." She wagged her finger in warning, then shifted her stern gaze from Richard to Lester.

Standing stock-still, Lester gaped at the heavy-set black angel. "I—I remember you!"

"Yes, you do. My name is Tess." Tess folded her arms across her chest, her severe expression fixed on Lester's face. "I am an angel, sent by God. And so are Monica and Gloria, who helped you inventory your food this morning."

Lester turned to stare at them. Monica inclined her head in acknowledgement of Tess' pronouncement. As Tess continued to speak, he pivoted to face her.

"Lester Larson, you obviously took my warning to heart, and stored enough food to last you for quite awhile." Heavenly light began to pour off her, Monica, and Gloria, adding extra illumination to that provided by the sunlight. Tess kept her gaze fixed on Lester. "God sent me to you with that warning, and you were wise to heed it. What you don't realize is that God wanted you to store plenty of food, not just to keep yourself alive, but to keep alive your neighbors as well." She wagged her finger as she spoke.

"That's right." Clasping her hands in front of her waist, Monica approached him. "You wanted to keep all the food for yourself, but God does not want you to do that. He wants you to share what you have with others, as well." A sad expression etched the Irish-tongued angel's face. "Lester, God didn't send an angel to warn you to store food just so you could save your own life. He warned you to store it so you could also be His instrument to save your hungry neighbors."

The Irish-tongued angel touched his linen-clad shoulder. Lester bit his lower lip, but said nothing. "Lester, listen to me. Martin Luther once said, 'I have had many things in my hands, and I have lost them all. But whatever I have placed in God's hands, that I still possess.'" She paused. "You have tried to keep all your food to save yourself, Lester, and now you are in mortal danger of losing it all." She squeezed his shoulder. Her voice softened. "God is calling you to put it all in His hands. Now."

"And how will that help me?" Lester retorted, his voice turning husky. "Because when my food runs out, Monica, I will die, too. Just as Richard's wife did." He shook his head.

"No, you won't. God loves you, and He has a different plan for you than that. But you've got to trust Him." Monica dropped her hand to her side. "There was an Israelite named Joseph who was sold into slavery in Egypt, thousands of years ago. Many years after Joseph became a slave and spent time in prison, God gave the Egyptian Pharaoh two dreams, both predicting seven years of abundance followed by seven years of famine. God was calling the Pharaoh to store all the abundance of food during the years of plenty, so the people would have food to eat during the years of famine." She smiled. "That story is told in the Book of Genesis. In the Bible. And it's all true."

Lester swallowed. "But—they had enough food to last them for seven years. How—how long will this famine last?"

"Till the Messiah, Jesus, comes back, in less than three-and-a-half years." Tess approached him. Her ruby necklace gleamed in the afternoon sunlight pouring through the window. "However, do not despair, because there is another story in the Bible that speaks to the very situation you face now. And it's just as true. In the Book of First Kings, God commanded a widow during a famine to feed Elijah. All she had left was a handful of flour in a jar and a little oil in a jug. When that ran out, she and her son were going to starve to death. Yet, God sent Elijah the Tishbite to her, so that she would feed him."

A fidgeting Lester fixed his gaze on her, hands in his pockets. He did not speak. Monica and Tess exchanged a glance. Gloria remained on the couch, leaning forward, watching her colleagues. The mattress sagged underneath her weight as she shifted position slightly. Tess cleared her throat, before opening her mouth to continue. Mark stood quietly, moving only once to brush his hair out of his eyes. Richard stood frozen, mouth open, hardly breathing.

"God gave her a message through Elijah, Lester—the same sort of message He gives you now." Monica paused again. "He told her, 'The jar of flour will not be used up and the jug of oil will not run dry, until the day the Lord gives rain on the land.'"

"You mean…" Lester's voice shook.

"Yes, Lester, we do mean." Monica smiled at him, comfortingly. "God is telling you that He is not going to let your food run out if you will share it with your starving neighbors. It will last for as long as it's needed."

She opened her mouth to say more, then froze. Standing stock-still she raised her face to the ceiling. A somber expression flitted over her eyes. "Yes, Father," she whispered.

She turned to face Richard, a sad expression in her caring eyes. "Richard…" She swallowed, then slowly approached him. "Lester is going to die soon, anyway. He does not need your assistance to do so." She gently pressed his revolver down toward his side. 

**END OF CHAPTER 6 **

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	8. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

Lester's mouth dropped open once more, shock etched on his face. "You've got to be kidding!"

"No, she's not, Lester." Andrew appeared, dressed in his light beige suit, and glowing. "You have a brain aneurysm, and it's going to burst today. And when it does, you will die. You don't have to die alone, though." He paused, folding his hands across his chest. "God loves you, Lester, and He wants you to live with Him, but that's up to you. You have the choice of dying with Christ or without Him."

Andrew turned to Richard. "You have that same choice. Your wife is safe in the Father's arms; your brother shared his faith with her just shortly before she died. I took her Home."

Lester sank into the nearest armchair, its soft mattress sagging underneath his weight. "You're the angel of death?" Andrew nodded.

"If you will receive Jesus into your heart, Lester, I will escort you to Heaven." Andrew smiled at him. "Do you know how to do that?"

"Uh—no." Lester shook his head. Tess nodded toward Mark, who inclined his head in acquiescence.

"It's very simple." Mark slowly approached the wealthy businessman and knelt before him. "First, admit you're a sinner. Because you are—we all are. Admit that you need Jesus to forgive your sins and make you clean inside. He died on the cross for us and rose again three days later, so we wouldn't have to endure God's wrath forever. In a horrible place called Hell." Lester bit his lower lip. "Then ask Him to do just that, and to live inside your heart."

Monica nodded agreement. "In short, just believe and receive. Jesus will do the rest."

Lester suddenly winced, clutching his head. "My head hurts," he whispered. "Is this the aneurysm?" Andrew nodded. Lester bowed his head. "Please, Jesus, forgive me," he whimpered. "Live inside me and save my soul."

He looked up at his visitors, still clutching his head in both hands. "I—I can't distribute any food now. It's too late. I'm going to die now." He sighed. "There's no time left."

"Yes, there is." Gloria took her turn kneeling in front of Lester, her slack-clad knees flattening carpet tufts beneath. Repeating the words she had once spoken to another businessman bent on revenge, before the Rapture, she told him, "God is giving you all the time you need right now, to do the right thing."

He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his head. His fingertips dug into his scalp. He took deep breaths. "I—I'll have to give you the combination, then. That's—all I can do."

Gloria nodded. "That's all you need to do."

Lester took a deep breath. "First, though, I—I need to say this." He swallowed. "Richard, Mark, I have no relatives to inherit my property, so I'm bequeathing it all to you. Right now. Sorry I don't have time to make out a will." Richard and Mark exchanged smiles and nods. "You'll have to distribute the food to our neighbors; I won't be alive to do it. Pay attention while I give you the combination."

Slowly, he repeated the numbers. When he finished, he closed his eyes and slumped backward. A moment later, his heaving chest suddenly lay still. "He's dead," Andrew told the others. A second, the angel of death disappeared.

"Lester's on his way to Heaven now," Tess told the others. "Let's go downstairs, so we can prepare the food for distribution. Richard, Mark, the Father is calling you to take charge of that program. Don't make the mistake Lester made, of believing that you must rely on yourselves to stay alive in this famine. You will need God's help to do that." She wagged her finger for emphasis. "Trust God and follow His instructions; He'll do the rest."

Mark nodded acquiescence. "We'll do as you say," he promised. "Right now, though, one of us had better find that safe." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"I'll find it." Richard laid his revolver on the polished mahogany coffee table, then pivoted to face Monica. "Where is it?"

"In the cellar beneath the kitchen," Monica told him. She handed him the combination, hastily scrawled on a scrap of paper. "The kitchen is further down the hall, toward the other side of the house."

Taking the paper, Richard strode toward the kitchen and descended the cellar stairs. After several minutes of searching, he found the light switch and flipped it on. Soft golden light illuminated the whole cellar, including the metal safe on the other side.

Slowly, he moved the combination back and forth toward the numbers listed on the paper. When he had landed it on the final number, he yanked on the padlock. To his dismay, it refused to open.

"Can't be!" he muttered, rubbing his forehead. "I must have turned the combination the wrong way."

Trying a second time, Richard still couldn't pull the padlock open. Rage surged in his heart. He had been tricked, lied to! How could Lester, in death, have deceived them in this fashion?!

Swearing, he banged his fist against the rough bricks comprising the wall. Then, clutching his throbbing hand, he stomped up the stairs, through the kitchen, down the hall, and back into the drawing room.

"That stupid combination does not work!" he exploded, wadding the paper and hurling it on the coffee table. "Lester _lied_! He gave us the wrong combination!" He took a deep breath, clenching his fists. "He kept it to himself just to keep us from getting any of that food!" 

**END OF CHAPTER 7 **

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	9. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

Monica raised her hand. "No, he didn't!" She placed a calming hand on the seething Richard. "Lester sometimes got his numbers wrong when he was giving them to people. He did that once today, while we were inventorying his food."

Gloria set her gleaming china coffee cup on the table, then rose to her feet. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "I'll find the right combination." She trotted out the drawing-room entrance. The others followed her.

"How can _you_ find it?" Richard demanded, as they re-entered the cellar. The golden light still permeated the room; Richard had left the light on.

"Gloria has the mind of a computer. Don't worry; she will find the right combination," Monica assured him.

In rapid strides, Gloria made her way toward the safe. Peering down at the iron padlock, she cradled it in her palm for a long moment. She was determined to find the right combination. She felt confident that she'd be able to do so.

"It's probably not very different from the sequence of digits he gave us," she said. "It's just a matter of determining which digits he gave us incorrectly. And the correct directions to move the combination in."

For the next two minutes, silence descended throughout the cellar as Gloria focused on the padlock combination. At last, a broad smile spread across her face. "I got it!" she announced. "I got the right combination!"

Swiftly, she turned the combination one way, then the other, then the first way again. When she stopped it on the final number, she jerked it open and removed the padlock. "Voila!" She swung the safe door open. The others cheered and clapped.

Turning to Richard, she whipped a small spiral notebook out of her pocket and wrote the combination on a sheet of paper. "Here." She tore the sheet out of the notebook and handed it to Richard. "This is the combination, so keep it."

Smiling his thanks, Richard folded the paper and stuffed it into his pants pocket. Flipping on the switch, Tess entered the safe and took out four boxes of Tuna Helper and four cans of tuna. She stuck two packages of powdered nonfat milk under her arm. "We'd better make lunch right now," she ordered, "because we're about to have company, and our visitors are going to be starving."

"Company?" Mark and Richard exchanged puzzled glances.

"Yes." Leaving the safe, Tess stopped in front of them. "Even as I speak, some angels are bringing some neighbors here, and we need to prepare some food for them. So let's get back upstairs and get started. Since this will be your first time distributing food and since you're as hungry as our visitors, I'll cook supper for you all."

She turned the light inside the safe off, then marched toward the stairs. The others followed.

Sure enough, back in the kitchen, as Tess opened the fourth box of Tuna Helper, the doorbell in the foyer jangled. The supervisor angel had already mixed a pitcher of nonfat milk; it stood open on the counter.

"I'll get it," Monica said. "You come with me, Mark."

The two of them hurried down the hall toward the foyer and opened the front door. A group of men, women, and toddlers stood on the porch, all of them skinny and stick-limbed. Their eyes looked too big in their sunken faces. One of the children, evidently two, had a thumb in her mouth. The other toddlers leaned on their parent's shoulders. The angels had evidently left them as soon as they'd brought the visitors to the porch.

"May we help you?" A warm smile of welcome spread on Monica's face.

One of the men gestured toward the others, then pointed at himself. "We don't know exactly why we're here, but some angels came to see us and told us to come to Lester Larson's mansion. They brought us here, too."

Mark and Monica exchanged a glance. "Lester Larson just died," Mark said, "but he's bequeathed his home to my brother and me. Come on in; we know why you're here."

"Yes." Monica's smile looked kind and comforting. "God has brought you here, so you can have something to eat. You haven't eaten in days, have you?" Grimacing, the people shook their heads.

Mark nodded agreement. "Come on in. Lunch is not ready yet, but it will be, before long."

Minutes later, gleaming china plates of steaming hot Tuna Helper lined up the long table in the spacious dining room. Crystal glasses of nonfat dry milk stood next to the plates. Gloria had covered the table with a glistening white tablecloth and set vases of flowers in its middle. Mark, Richard, and their visitors took their places, bowing their heads while Tess asked the blessing.

"I'm only giving you all small portions, this time," Tess told them. "You're suffering from malnutrition, so you must be careful of what you choose to eat. Don't worry, you won't return to your homes still starving. This first meal is only the beginning."

For the next half-hour, talk gave way to chewing; only the toddlers broke that silence with their jabber. The long-standing ache and emptiness in Richard's and Mark's stomachs gave way to a satisfying sense of fullness.

When everyone had enjoyed their fill, Richard and Mark rose to their feet and approached the angels. "This is the first time in a long time we've been able to eat much of anything," Richard said, in a low voice. "We want to thank you."

"We sure do." A grateful smile spread across Mark's face as he brushed his hair out of his eyes. "You've saved us from starvation, and for that, we thank you. You're an answer to prayer, if there ever was one!"

"God always answers prayer, Mark." Monica touched his shoulder. Her pearl earrings shone in the overhead light illuminating the dining room. "He will always see you through trials and tribulation, no matter how bad they get. And the trials you and Richard are facing are going to get much worse before they get better." She clasped her hands in front of her waist.

"That's right." Tess turned to Richard. "Now's the time to turn your life over to God, Richard. Has Mark ever instructed you on how to do that?"

"Yeah." Richard grimaced. "He wasted no time sharing it all with me, as soon as he became a Christian. A little over three-and-a-half years ago." He sighed, then shook his head. "I didn't want to hear it, though—I told him to leave me alone."

He glanced at his brother, then frowned. "Is it true what he said, back then? About—about this being a seven-year Tribulation? He—he tried to tell me it was, but I didn't want to believe it." He bit his lower lip. "I'm not sure I want to now."

"Well, you will have to believe it, because he's right. Yes, it is true, Richard." Tess' voice grew somber, her face solemn. She folded her arms across her chest. "And the vast majority of people are going to die while it's in progress. Those who accept the new chip implant and worship Puccini's image will have no hope of salvation, but will be doomed to Hell. And they will die physically, either while the Tribulation's in progress or when Jesus comes back." She paused. "Enforcement of the implant hasn't come to this area yet, but it will. Already, no one can buy or sell without it; soon, you won't be able to pay your utility bills without it either. Lester was able to bribe the local utility company into continuing his service—and yours—by giving bars of gold to certain employees in that company. Soon, though, it will take more than his gold to keep it going. Your electricity and gas will be cut off when that happens."

Mark and Richard exchanged apprehensive glances as she spoke. Tess shook her head, sadness in her eyes.

"A numberless multitude of Tribulation believers will be executed for refusing to take it. Their souls will be safe, however. And their bodies will be resurrected when Jesus returns. Those who refuse to turn to Him for mercy, though, will die in under three-and-a-half years or less. They will go to Hell, then they will be cast into the Lake of Fire, totally separated from God forever."

"I see." Richard bit his lower lip. "All that sounds terrible." Tess nodded agreement. "In a way, though, that enforcement you speak of _has_ come." He shook his head. "Already, as you said, Tess, none of us can buy or sell without that stupid implant. I know we wouldn't have been able to keep our utilities going this long, either, if it hadn't been for Lester's arrangement with the local utility company. Guess I'm a stubborn coot—I'd rather take my chances than take that implant. Even when I'm starving. My wife preferred that, too."

"You're a wise man to see it that way." Tess' eyes softened, then grew warm with evident approval. For a second, she glanced at Gloria, standing near the dining table, ready to refill someone's glass or plate. She turned back to Richard. "That, however, is not enough. God wants you to become His child, by receiving His Son into your heart." She fixed her gaze on him. "Are you ready to do that?" 

**END OF CHAPTER 8 **

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	10. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

Richard sagged his shoulders, then sighed. He rubbed his forehead. "Yes. I am."

Dropping his hand to his side, he bowed his head. "Please, Jesus, forgive me for the wrong I've done." He paused. "Including trying to kill Lester Larson. Thank You for sending me these angels to stop me, and to get through to Lester."

He swallowed. "I—I ask You to come live in my heart, and to use me. Please make me new inside. Amen."

He opened his eyes. The angels and Mark beamed; Mark threw his arms around his older brother.

"Richard, Mark, listen to me." A serious expression etched Tess' ebony face. "Listen to my instructions, because they're from God." She looked from Mark to Richard. "For starters, God has called you to be the same instruments that Lester was supposed to be. That means you will have to feed your neighbors. This home is yours now, along with the food."

Her eyes grew stern; she wagged her finger. "Don't make the mistake Lester made, of thinking that you and you alone can keep yourselves alive in this Tribulation. You can't; only God can. He is calling you to share your food generously, and to trust Him to keep you supplied. He will make the food last. Just as He promised Lester." She looked from Richard to Mark. "Your lives are in God's hands, and that's where He wants you to leave them."

Richard and Mark looked at each other, then nodded. "We will," Richard promised. Nodding agreement, Mark leaned against the dining-room wall.

"One more instruction." Propping her fingers together, Monica glanced at the ceiling, then looked at Richard, then Mark. "In the cellar, there is a closet. You've seen a door to the left of the safe; that's the closet door." The two men nodded. "And underneath that closet is another entrance, leading down into a bomb shelter. Lester didn't reveal this to Gloria or me; God did. This house is several decades old; its original owner had a fallout shelter built beneath that cellar during the early 60s. It's a spacious shelter, big enough to hold quite a few people. And strong enough to withstand all but a direct hit from a nuclear bomb."

She furrowed her eyebrows. "In a matter of months, the war in the Middle East is going to turn nuclear; when that happens, nuclear winter will soon set in. The air will become radioactive and cold. The sky will be dark. And there will be earthquakes."

The two men fidgeted, uneasy expressions on their faces. Monica smiled reassuringly. "Don't be afraid, but do be prepared. It's going to happen, and God wants you to get ready. Because when that happens, you will have to not only provide your neighbors with food—you will have to shelter them, as well."

Tess agreed. She folded her arms across her chest. "In fact, gentlemen, you may have to shelter them sooner than that." She paused. "When the law starts executing local believers for refusing the implant, you will have to hide them in that bomb shelter. You will also have to be prepared to hide yourselves, so take some of that food now in the safe down to the bomb shelter, so it'll be there when the time comes. Move all the bottled water down there, too, because the water supply will eventually be contaminated. There is room enough in the fallout shelter to store food as well as to shelter people. You will have to feed and to hide all believers in the months to come."

Monica nodded. "The shelter will be a safe place to stay out of the radiation. And the air is cool, so you won't have to worry about sweltering down there when your utilities get cut off. The cellar above will be a comfortable place to sleep when that day comes."

The two Campbells acquiesced. "We will do as you say." Mark pushed his glasses up his nose. "We will need a lot of help from God to carry out this calling effectively. Especially if it's going to get as bad as you say."

"And you will have it," Tess promised. "When the need arises, He will send you angels, as He did, this time. Maybe not us, but He will send you angels when you need them. And He will send you whatever miraculous provisions you need, as well."

Tess turned to the others. Until then, she, Monica, and the two men had spoken in low voices. Now, approaching the dining table, she raised her alto voice.

"Ladies and gentlemen, listen to me." Her authoritative voice silenced everyone. "God sent you angels to bring you to a place where you could have food. That food will last here for as long as you need it to." She paused. "Right now, though, I have a very important question to ask you. How many of you have accepted Jesus into your hearts? Raise your right hands if you've accepted Him as your Savior."

All the adults raised their hands. The toddlers just fidgeted, jabbered, and played with their food. Tess looked from one visitor to another, gazing at their hands and their foreheads as she did so. At last, a pleased grin spread across her face.

"Not a single one of you have accepted Puccini's implant. That's good. The Father is proud of you." She beamed her approval. "Here, you will have shelter as well, when the time comes. When the law begins enforcing the mark by threat of execution, you will have this house to come to. Mark and Richard will give you shelter and hide you, when the time comes to go into hiding." Mark and Richard bowed in acknowledgment.

"In the meantime," Tess continued, "God wants you to stay close to Him and be prepared to follow His leading. These are extremely difficult times, and they will get worse before Jesus returns. But God will see you through them, and He will preserve your souls until His Son arrives to begin His Kingdom."

She approached Richard and lowered her voice once more. "I will be back in a few hours, to officiate your wife's funeral. With Lester dead, we will have to hold a double funeral, so a couple of coffins will be sent here very soon—we will hold the funeral here. Your wife's body will be transported here, too." She paused. "I took the liberty of getting you a tomb stone for her, so you wouldn't have to. I will get another one for Lester, too." Richard smiled his gratitude.

Saying good-bye to Richard and Mark, the angels left the house. "I'm so glad these believers will have a refuge where they can be safe while the world faces destruction." Monica paused to gaze up at the towering mansion, a satisfied smile on her face. Her pearl earrings gleamed in the sunlight. A breeze suddenly arose, playing with her hair and caressing her face.

Tess nodded agreement. "So am I, baby. There will be many such shelters in a variety of places, all over the world, for Tribulation believers to hide in. And God will provide them with miracles as needed—designed to keep them alive—as He did for these people." She shook her head. "Without such places and without angelic intervention, Angel Girl, no one could survive to the Second Coming."

"They certainly wouldn't." Andrew appeared next to them. "We angels of death would have to take them all Home, and there would be no survivors to repopulate the earth during the Millennium."

Gloria turned to him. She brushed her hair out of her face. "Is Lester in Heaven?"

Andrew smiled. "Yes, he is. And he and Lila Campbell have already met."

A broad answering smile spread across Tess' face. "I'm glad to hear that, Angel Boy." She glanced at the wispy clouds overhead. "Well, let's go—we still have a funeral and two burials to prepare for, and only a few hours to do it. And after Lester Larson and Lila Campbell have been buried, we have another assignment waiting for us."

The four angels climbed into Tess' convertible and sped down the dirt road, disappearing in a cloud of dust. Overhead, a snow-white dove flew, softly cooing. 

**THE END **

**©2005, by KathyG. **

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